Poetry Contest: Done Right

By Alison Johnson

She held the tiny child gently over her thigh,
Patting her back, this child in the pink knit cap and pink striped onesie.
Her munificent smile, her mild face tilted.
This child made of rubber, this doll.
“I am re-parenting myself” She said, holding the small one to her shoulder.
“She will only hear what a child should hear.”
“Just this morning I told her that her hair doesn’t stink.”

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